Am I Real?…

The world is a window, and I’m behind glass,
Watching my life like a shadow show pass. 
My brain flips a switch and it shuts off the light,
Swallowing whole both the wrong and the right. 

It keeps out the terror, but locks out the real,
And leaves me with nothing to actually feel. 
Without any passion, a memory dies,
It’s just a still picture in somebody’s eyes. 

Whatever I do will be gone by tomorrow,
Stripped clean of the joy, stripped clean of the sorrow. 
A scene on a screen while I sit in the dark,
Did I live my own life? Did I even leave a mark?

You can stare at your hand and not know if it’s yours,
A stranger inside of a house with no doors. 
No weight to the moment, no bite to the pain,
Just cold, quiet static inside of a brain. 

None of it touches me and none of it’s real,
Just a passenger watching a hands free wheel.
Stripped of the emotional, binding ties,
I watch my whole life pass before my eyes. 

Read a reply to my poem by Maggie; A Response To Rawbpdpoetry